Sunday, June 10, 2018

Alice
woke me up at 4am out of a dead sleep, saying that she wanted to tell
me what had just happened. For a chrononaut she had terrible timing.

Chainsaw Alice in Ooverdare

There
was a sad little man who lived a sad little life.

He
wasted his time hating. Hating everyone, hating everything. Hating
kings, and hating queens, and hating cats, and hating cards, and
hating secret breakfasts, and hating quiet sunsets, and hating games,
and hating fun, and hating love, and hating hate.

After
many adventures across many worlds, Alice had retreated to the
wondrous rolling hills of Ooverdare. Not retired, mind you. For a
chrononaut, the expression, "a time and place for everything"
was very, very literal. Right now, at this time, at this place, was
her everything. No past, no future, only right now. Retreat,
repast, recover. Unwind, don't rewind. She could change her past if
she wanted to, but you cannot. Besides, why would she want to? If
she did, then she would not be the she that she is today. Good, bad,
or sideways, she liked herself just the way she was.

Now,
the sad little man had taken to calling himself Fateweaver. And
everyone told him it was a very good name. A powerful name. A
meaningful name. A presentient name. But it wasn't, not for him at
least.

Fateweaver
hated time, thus he hated Alice. He believed, incorrectly, that
since she was a chrononaut, that she had all the time in the world.
He wanted to take all her time since he had wasted all his time.
Then he would have all the time for all the hate that he loved to
share with everyone.

But
how to steal time from a chrononaut? "Eureka! I will gather an
army of time trolls from the depths of all the darkest worlds, and
they will have the power to take all her time!" he declared to
himself. And so he did. Big time, small time, even trolls who
really had no time at all; they all made time, to hate with
Fateweaver. They marched under his false flag that flew low and
flapped frantically as they crossed the spidery-legged terrain, up
and down, over and around, a million creepycrawlies, predators of the
dateshifter.

They
hurled rocks, and axes, and barbed comments at her cozy cottage.
"Why must they always attack at tea time?" Alice wondered.
She slipped on her boots and walked outside.

With
a wave of her hand, time stood still. But with this many trolls, it
would not last long. Time was a slippery thing, and it marches on,
whether or not she or anyone else wants it to.

"The
price of peace is peace." Alice went to find out who was in
charge of this blunderous undertaking.

She
found Fateweaver. The little man in the big hat. His pride was not
hidden but displayed. She unfroze him. "Tag. You're it. Now
what is your game?"

"I
hate games," he replied. "And I hate time, and you are
having the time of your life, so I hate you. I will take all your
time."

"Did
you honestly believe that time trolls could harm me? I knew they
were coming before they did. I used their own time against them.
And it takes me no time at all. You see, I simply ignore them, and
they are not there. I have no time for them and they burn up all
their time." The trolls all vanished. Gone without a trace.

"What?!"
exclaimed Fateweaver in confusion. "Where have all the time
trolls gone?"

"You
cannot waste my time, but you are testing my patience." She
spun him around and he fell to the ground.

"I
have come undone." He sat bedraggled, moping.

"My
time is my own. No one can take it from me. But I share it with who
I choose. Good day to you."

"I
need to get some more-comfortable shoes," she thought to
herself. What was that phrase again? "With enemies like these,
who needs cupcakes?" This girl, that's who.

Thursday, May 17, 2018

The Trauma Tarot is the official divination deck of the First United Church of Cthulhu. Draw a card, that is what is weighing on your subconscious mind, traumatizing your essence, tearing apart the fabric of your very being. This is where you need to focus your spiritual work.

All the art is from Alfred Kubin, a tortured soul who saw nightmarish visions, tentacle monstrosities, and infinite hellscapes decades before Lovecraft had his similar experiences. Kubin is one of the Oculi ~ an artist, a seer, a person who has encountered the chaos and madness of the unseen realms and brought those images to life in our world ~ a beautiful, terrible warning of what lies beyond, or just behind a dream.

Sunday, May 6, 2018

Sunday overtime. Loverboy was wrong - nobody's working for the weekend, except me. I tell ya, trading away your life for a few extra bucks really grinds on you sometimes. The only reason I take any time off is when I have my kids every other weekend. Gotta jam in every last extra hour of overtime while it's available.

Because the only goal I have is to get a physical location for the First United Church of Cthulhu. I got my house for a really good price after the banks crashed the housing market. And since they've been artificially inflating the value of homes, I have a massive amount of equity built up. If I can find a good warehouse property without too many psychotic Alice Cooper homeless types from The Prince of Darkness wandering around (yes, that is a problem here) or maybe a nice commercial property in a strip mall, next to a strip bar; then I can sell my house, use the equity to get a decent property, and have a 15 ft statue of Cthulhu made (industrial 3D printers can go up to 60 ft!).

And you're going to love the rest of the build out. The church will became a one-of-a-kind worldwide destination. And when your coworkers ask what you did over the weekend, you'll be able to tell them, "I went to the live goat sacrifice and BBQ of Shub-Niggurath at the First United Church of Cthulhu." It might take a few months, it might take a few years, but it will all be worth it in the end.

Saturday, May 5, 2018

My son is 12 and my daughter is 10. They loved the original trilogy. They only saw parts of the prequel trilogy, but played a bunch of the video games based on them, saw the animated Clone Wars film, and watched a ton of the Clone Wars animated series when it was on Cartoon Network.

My son went to see Star Wars - The Last Jedi with his aunt. Afterwards, he told me, "Dad, you're gonna hate this movie. They made Luke a grumpy old man. He quits being a jedi. Luke wouldn't give up. He'd fight. This is stupid!" I was glad to see that the bullshit Rian Johnson pulled with the film wasn't flying with the little kids, either.

After hearing about Luke from her brother, and with the death of Carrie Fisher, my daughter didn't want me to take her to see it. "They killed Han Solo and Luke Skywalker, and the real Princess Leia died so she won't be coming back in the next one. I don't care anymore." She always liked Leia more than Rey.

Me: "They're making a Star Wars TV series!"Them: "It will probably be bad like the new movies."

Me: "Hey! The new Han Solo movie is coming out in a few weeks."
Them: "That's not Han Solo! That guy doesn't look or sound like Han Solo at all."Me: "But it's got Chewbacca in it. It's about when Han and Chewie were young." And Chewbacca is my daughter's favorite character.Them: "We don't care. Go see it without us."

And with that, my kids were done with Star Wars. They and their friends only talk about Avengers, Fortnite and other video games, and some of the random Netflix shows and animes. Star Wars no longer interests them. Obviously, they are only a small sample of kids, but if this trend is the same throughout their age group, Disney may have lost the next generation of filmgoers. The new trilogy has embittered young and old to the franchise, that and over saturation will "force" a decline in the public's overall interest. And they will only be able to mine so much nostalgia out of the old characters before those who grew up with the original trilogy lose interest as well; plus the loss as their generation dies off. It will stop being important to drink your prune juice out of an R2-D2 sippy cup.

Friday, May 4, 2018

I created this map of Lovecraft's Dreamlands for the story "Jangling the Silver Keys" in the anthology Kill Those Damn Cats - Cats of Ulthar Lovecraftian Anthology. As I reread the various stories of what is called the Dream Cycle, Lovecraft's various Dreamlands stories, I noticed that all the maps that have been made were wrong! Apparently the mapmakers either just pulled names from the stories or didn't bother to read them very well, unable to properly place cities as located by Lovecraft himself in the works; or they just don't know which way west is when the story says "west of Ulthar" for example.

The below map has all the extra places I added circled in red, because otherwise the map was very empty.

Saturday, March 31, 2018

You know it's a bad month
when you have to make a list of all the people who passed away to
make sure you haven't missed anyone. The greatest consolation is
that they were all from natural causes, no suicides are other
senseless loss of life.

I've never sugarcoated
death. Their story has ended, but ours go on. They will always be
an important chapter in our book of life. The past should be
remembered, but not relived. Life is lived forward.

Kiara Miatosa - a kind heart and sweet smile. A friend from the cosplay and steampunk community.

Ken Murphy - just an all around good dude. Open to people of all beliefs, we are undecided on if he is spending time listening to the pipers in Azathoth's court, singing ballads in the beer halls of Valhalla, or just chillin' with Buddha.

Wakako Kawagoshi-Fisher - possibly the most tragic passing. Her husband, pictured with her, Hart Fisher is the founder of Boneyard Press who currently runs American Horrors, a streaming horror channel. Their relationship was one which everyone aspires to but very few ever achieve. Their love was evident and everpresent.

Then several other friends
have each lost loved ones; a father, a mother, a childhood friend,
another mutual friend, and several family pets. A few were upset at
the loss of Stephen Hawking, but he kinda lost his mind at the end,
raving about fearing aliens invading the earth or AI destroying
humanity.

I will also include my April Memorial. Two of the greatest people I have had the pleasure of knowing but have passed into the great beyond were both lost to the world in April, so it is a very somber and introspective time for me every year. A time to reflect on the previous year and ask myself, "Did I enjoy it? Did I at least accomplish something worthwhile? Have I progressed towards the goals that I want to achieve with the limited time I have left on this planet? Did I live my life to the fullest?" If not, how do I rectify that.

Desiree Duponte - had an incredible passion for life and music, and damn could she shred! Though I only knew her for a few years, it was like we had been lifelong friends. I dedicated Got a Bad Case of the Horribly Wrongs to her, and her phenomenal musical talent was the inspiration for the guitarist priestess character Strawberry Cthcake.

Sid Copeland - proprietor of the punk bar Jughead's (now also gone). After having Thanksgiving dinner with his actual flesh and blood family, he would open the bar and have Thanksgiving dinner with his punk family who didn't have anyone else to spend the holiday with or have anywhere else to go. It was a free, full blown, serve yourself, turkey and gravy and mashed potatoes and yams from a can Thanksgiving dinner. He did the same on Christmas Eve. I and my friends broke bread and vodka with Sid quite a few times. Sid was the heart of the punk community of that bygone era.

Saturday, February 3, 2018

Issue #84 of the Elvira, Mistress of the Dark comic book starring the titular character features the story "Shadow of Sinnsport," a direct reference to "The Shadow Over Innsmouth." The Lovecraft character, though obviously picturing the author himself, is named Professor Lucifer Conal of Mastadonic University. It revolves around the search for the Heckronomicon and includes lots of the other puns you'd expect from an Elvira comic. It features a fishmen attack and a decent, if not super cliché, ending.

Hitting CTRL + will enlarge the pages to make them more easily readable, then CTRL - to reduce them, or CTRL 0 will reset the modifications.

Sunday, January 28, 2018

In
the post-Harvey Weinstein era, let's revisit the accusation that
steampunk musician Professor Elemental is a rapist. No charges were
filed against him, but that doesn't mean he didn't break the law.
Let's review!

TL;DR
version – yeah, he should have been incarcerated, IMO, but I'm no
lawyer

(but
you gotta read the part about how I punched a bunch of old ladies! I
can make any story about me.)

Back
in 2016, I had over 4,000 people on my Facebook friends list. For
every one I'd delete I'd get ten more random friend requests, and
obviously I didn't know most of them. Then the insanity of election
year really hit hard and it was time to remove the idiocy. I chopped
my friends list down to under 1,000.

Then,
a couple days ago, a post from Paul Alborough (Professor Elemental's
real name) pops up on my Facebook newsfeed. I'm like, "What?
How did that fucker survive The Culling of 2016? He's got to go!"
Not too long after that, a troll from the local steampunk community
popped in on a post talking mad shit, and I'm like, "He
survived, too? I need to go back through my friends list again."
See, here in Arizona, we have a lot of fools who think they're Billy
the Kid, forgetting that I know who they are in the real world, and I
was **this close** to handing William the CPA his ass. But I didn't.

At
the Church of Cthulhu we get hate mail, or hate posts left on our
Facebook page, on a weekly basis. And as fun as it can be, the best
advice in these cases is "DON'T FEED THE TROLLS!" Just
delete the message or post, block them, then forget about them. So
that's what I did. Later, Willy.

But
it got me thinking about all the douchebags in the steampunk
community who were a breath away from getting pulverized. In the old
days, back in 2001, Willy would have been hospitalized, if he
survived the ambulance ride. But I've left those violent worlds
behind me. I don't hang out with my thug friends very often
anymore.

I've
been in clubs and bars most of my life, managed a few, and even owned
one for a little while. And when your peers are from the streets,
ex-gang members, bouncers, hustlers, dealers, the only thing a man
has is his name. Respect means everything. You live and die by it.
And people like Willy, and Professor Elemental, and Captain Robert
(from Abney Park, we'll get to Captain Douchenozzle in a minute)
usually need to be taught the meaning of respect the hard way.

I
miss my boy, Tiny, the most. Of course, some of the ladies we worked
with named him that, because it was the exact opposite of what he was
– a freakin' man mountain who enjoyed beating the shit out of
people who deserved it. If you disrespected any of our waitresses,
gawd forbid you made the mistake of sexually harassing one, Tiny took
the utmost glee in dragging you outside and pounding you into
oblivion. His specialty was breaking jaws. One solid swipe with his
sledgehammer fist and that sickly **pop** as your jaw is dislocated
from the rest of your skull. . .

So
that's the world I'm coming from. [Long gone. Stay back. No more
bad people.] It turned out, some of my new friends were running the
Wild, Wild West Steampunk Convention 2013 down at Old Tucson Studios.
With my background in clubs and events, I ended up running the
entertainment on the various stages. The main saloon stage is where
the steampunk celebrities perform, such as Professor Elemental and
Abney Park. Go ahead and laugh, I know steampunk celebrity is an
oxymoron.

Simple
fact: Captain Robert Brown, lead singer of Abney Park, is a super
douche [IMANEEO, In My And Nearly Everyone Else's Opinion]. Go on
any Facebook steampunk group page, especially one of the steampunk
musicians groups, and just say, "I hear Captain Robert from
Abney Park is an asshole. Why?" and watch the hundreds of
responses come rolling in from people with all their negative
personal encounters with him. By the way, he's not a real captain.
That's make believy steampunky stuff.

So
it's time for sound check, and Captain Robert is drunk. He claims
that he needed to drink to perform, it was for his voice. Whatever.
I like alcohol. As long as he can perform, we're good. . . Until he
gets on stage and starts yelling and cussing and belittling all the
Old Tucson sound crew. "Here we go again," says the main
sound tech. Apparently the Captain had been the exact same way the
year before when he played there. They say they don't mind, they're
used to drunk cowboys playing Old Tucson all the time. Well that
shit don't fly with me.

If
he had ever pulled that shit at one of my clubs, he wouldn't have
been singing that night, maybe not breathing, either. One of my
sound guys used to do those dead lift competitions where they used Volkswagens instead of weights; Captain Robert would have been
smooshed up into a tiny, bleedy red ball. But going back to the
steampunk celebrity comment, a lot of the bands who play these
conventions can't pull off gigs in non-fantasyland, yet alone a tour,
so they don't know what it's like to be a real working musician.
They're used to people kissing their ass, whereas in the real world
it would be kicking their ass.

So
I grabbed some sort of blunt, wooden instrument. I don't remember
what exactly. Was it a broken chair leg? Hmm. Anyway, I was off to
have a "discussion" with the Captain when one of the
convention coordinators walked into the saloon. I explained the
situation and said, "You better go talk to him, because you
don't want me to." Robert later made a half-assed apology to
the sound crew.

By
the way, I was a fed from 2002-2007, #1 bomb guy in Arizona, I was
seriously (and hilariously) the highest trained federal law
enforcement officer in the state; only the city SWAT guys were better
trained than me. And the bomb-sniffing dogs, they're the best,
naturally. Okay, I went through old ladies' dirty underwear at the airport
looking for terrorists, but I still had more training than any of my
coworkers, all the extra stuff fell on me (no extra pay, thanks
fuckers! Don't work hard at a government job, they'll reward you by
making you also do the work of the lazy assholes around you. The
entire Department of Homeland Security is just another government
scam to funnel our tax dollars into the military-industrial complex).
A lot of my coworkers were ex-cops, so here's a free. . .

COP TIP
– when subduing a perpetrator, use your expandable baton or
nightstick to strike the outside of the target's upper leg. Most
people will attempt to protect their head and upper body from a
strike thus leaving them vulnerable to a lower body attack. This
will cause bruising but no permanent damage with which the
perpetrator can use against the police department should litigation
later occur. NEVER strike the knee! They are easily broken and then
can be used to prove police brutality. If this initial blow is not
enough to drop the perpetrator to the ground, it will cause enough
pain in most people that you will then be able to easily step to the
side and swing at their calves and the back of the knees, ensuring
that the perpetrator will not be able to remain standing. In this
now-prone position they will be easier to subdue and restrain.

Captain
Robert was two seconds away from being subdued, "Well,
officer, he was visibly intoxicated and became belligerent with the
Old Tucson employees. When I confronted him about his behavior he
became combative and came at me in a threatening manner. I was
forced to protect myself, and as I was also responsible for the
safety and well being of the guests and other convention workers, I
physically subdued and restrained the perpetrator until the proper
authorities could be called and arrive." Two seconds. That
convention coordinator saved him from a lifelong limp.

Here
is the beginning of Professor Elemental's part (and where I PUNCH
OLD LADIES). Most of the local steampunk community was unaware
of the rape allegations against him at this time. Not making
excuses, but this part will establish that **maybe** he's not as much
"I LIKE TO RAPE" as he is "I'M AN ALCOHOLIC WHO CAN'T
HANDLE HIS LIQUOR AND GETS BLACK OUT DRUNK THEN DOES LOTS OF BAD THINGS."

So,
Professor Elemental is wasted. Incoherent,
how-are-you-still-standing, wasted. Abney Park is playing their set,
everybody's loving it (Like their recorded music? They had a new
guitarist and they are soooo much better live). They had broken
their set up into two parts. At the end of the first part,
still-drunk and always a dumbass Captain Robert announces to the
crowd, "I will give a FREE CD to everyone who goes over and
gives Professor Elemental a kiss!"

I've
worked clubs and security long enough to know that things are about
to get real bad, real fast. And they did. The inebriated Professor
Elemental is leaning on the bar talking to a teenage girl and her
mother?/sister?/over 18 friend? I rushed over to him because I knew
what was coming; Professor Elemental was mobbed by about twenty or
thirty 50-year-old ladies (and a couple of old gentlemen). They're
running, knocking over chairs, pushing people out of the way to get
to the Professor, slamming him up against the bar trying to get a
kiss. He's been talking to the young ladies and not paying any
attention to the show, so he is caught off guard and has absolutely
no idea what is happening.

I
start trying to block the crowd – no one stops. I start yelling
for everyone to get back – no one listens. So I start smashing
grannies! I'm flingin' seniors, I'm elbowing elders, I'm pushing
pensioners, I'm wrestling retirees; because not only is Professor
Elemental being pressed into the bar, the oblivious idiot is too
drunk to realize that he is now standing on the young lady's
floor-length skirt and she is falling, barely holding onto the bar
and being propped up by the other woman with her, as they are all
being pushed along the bar and slowly dragged down.

I
tell him several times to move his foot, to lift his leg – nothing.
Blank stare. I tap his leg and repeat the statement – nothing.
So I physically grab his leg and lift it for him, and untangle his
foot from her skirt. Her companion pulls the young lady to safety.
So I go back to smashing grannies! The ones in front finally got the
message after being "physically prevented from harming Professor
Elemental" because remember, ANY unwanted physical contact is
legally considered assault. I was protecting the intoxicated guest,
who clearly could not do so himself, from an unruly mob who were
assaulting him. But the back of the bunch kept pushing forward, so
the geriatric jungle rumble continued.

Finally,
the crowd figured out that maybe they shouldn't be attacking the
Professor.

And
this was the last year the man who originally organized the
convention would be running it. He didn't care about steampunk as
much as making money off of the one good idea he ever had in his
life. See, he's a fucking idiot. So no one really knows if it was
out of greed or stupidity, but the number of tickets sold for the
show that night was greater than the maximum occupancy of the
building, thus exceeding fire safety capacity.

I
wonder what the charge and statute of limitations would be for
Captain Robert's crime? Probably "inciting a riot" which
would result in a misdemeanor disorderly conduct charge. But, they
were over capacity, people were assaulted because of his actions, and
there were young children present in the crowd as well, so felonious
reckless endangerment would be more likely.

And
that was just Friday Night. . .

The
next day, Professor Elemental returns the American flag that he stole
from Old Tucson the night before and woke up wrapped in, in his hotel
room. He was black out drunk so he doesn't remember where he took it
from. Those aren't cheap dollar store flags, so what he thinks makes
a humorous anecdote during his performance that night is actually
admission to felonious theft.

Abney Park is not asked back the
next year. Because of his rude behavior towards staff and organizers
at other conventions, the same thing was occurring at several other
events. And at Abney Park's overpriced performance fee, that equates
to a loss of 10's of thousands of dollars. It's good to know there
were actual consequences for his continuing bad behavior. And I know
they dropped their asking price by a chunk, probably because they
weren't getting shows anymore. People talk. Convention organizers
talk.

It
is during the middle of this same year that the allegations of
Professor Elemental's rape of Olivia M. Grey become widely known in
the steampunk community. And as is still sadly prevalent even today,
there was lots of victim blaming and slut shaming, and mostly support
for the celebrity who would never do that.

I
foolishly agreed to be stage manager again in 2014. I lectured them
like little children about fire and crowd safety, making sure they
understood that if someone gets hurt, Old Tucson doesn't get sued,
the convention does. And then that would probably also mean no more
convention.

Professor
Elemental was invited back again. "And have you discussed the
rape allegations with him? Criminal charges could very easily get
his travel visa pulled."

Basically,
his answer [yes, second hand from the convention coordinators] was
there was drinking, and his celebrity status had really went to his
head, and he may have to sue for defamation, and. . . that was it.
No denial, no regret, no apology. To my knowledge, he never
mentioned it or defended himself in any public or online forum, he
just let the storm of screeching sycophants rage on his behalf.

California
has added clearer definitions as to what constitutes sexual
harassment, sexual assault, and rape. Every court case comes out
differently. From Olivia's retelling, I would think sexual coercion
would be the appropriate charge. But formal charges were never
filed.

The
one aspect of her description that no one seemed to notice, "Even
while in his tiny hotel room, I tried to leave. Twice. Knowing it
was wrong. But he physically stopped me, both times. And the
seduction continued. And I begrudgingly let it." In many
states, that's KIDNAPPING! Don't believe me? Ask O. J. Simpson.

And
Olivia has also said that she has, "emails from him
where he referenced how I tried to physically leave the room, and he
blocked my exit with his body both times."

One
of Professor Elemental's friends was accompanying him in 2014 to film
a music video, and supposedly he was to be chaperoning, making sure
the Professor didn't drink too much. Yeah, let me tell you how that
worked out. People were buying Professor Elemental drinks all day
long, from his arrival at Old Tucson to his performance at the end of
the night. Let's be conservative and only call it 10 hours of
continuous drinking. Have you heard the expression, "two-fisted
drinking" before? This was literal! He had a drink in each
hand every time I saw him as I was working throughout the day. When
I confronted him about it, his response was, "It's okay, it's
American beer. There's almost no alcohol in it." I believe one
of the coordinators called him on it, too, and he used the same
excuse.

So
by the end of the evening he was slurring his words, swaying back and
forth while talking to people, because he couldn't stand up straight
without doing so, and once again, I was two seconds away from having
to give some steampunk celebrity a little "professional
guidance" out back, when the Old Tucson manager noticed his
level of intoxication (luckily for me, because I might have
felt bad after slapping the shit out of him, "Listen, you drunk
fuck. . .") She asked, "Is he going to be able to
perform?" I replied, "At this point, I don't know. He
wouldn't stop." So she went and told the bartenders he was cut
off, then had some words with him.

He
performed fairly well, only noticeably slurring twice and forgetting
part of a song once. But some people in the audience could tell.
Afterwards, because his set had started late, Old Tucson was
contractually closing at a set time, so he wasn't able to talk to
people/sell merch for very long at all; so he pitched a loud, drunken
bitching fit aimed at one of the coordinators (not really a rage, but
it was enough that a few of us were about ready to pound him). He
apologized later, but he was so lit I wonder how much of any of that
day he actually remembers.

I
foolishly agreed to be stage manager again in 2015. But Yog-Sothoth
decided that I had been through enough and shifted realities for me.
I have always, always, always told everyone that my kids come first.
Being a good father is more important than playing dressup with my
friends (though I do have a kick ass pith helmet and some sweet
custom goggles). I only get them every other weekend, and their mom
was going out of town that weekend. I found out a couple months in
advance so I dropped out of Wild West Con.

I
was momentarily sad when the weekend of the convention finally came,
because I didn't get to see any of my Tucson friends; but I love my
kids, and we always have fun no matter what we're doing, so I didn't
regret the decision one bit. And in the years since, the way the
weekends have fallen, I've had my kids that weekend. I've thought
about taking them, but they don't care about going to panels or
hearing about history (they're 10 and 12), and there's not enough to
keep them entertained to warrant the two hour drive from Phoenix to
Tucson. Plus, they always say, "we hate your steampunk friends
because you talk to them and ignore us," so I'm making sure that
never happens again (It was only one event, and they got ice cream
while we were there. Damn kids always wanting to be the center of
attention. Don't know where they get it.)

So,
in conclusion:

~
Fuck Captain Robert

~
Fuck Professor Elemental

~
Captain Robert – maybe an alcoholic, definitely a douchebag

~
Professor Elemental – maybe a rapist, definitely an alcoholic

~
Fuck Willy the Accountant

~
Fuck Nyarlathotep

~
Fuck Captain Robert again, in the ass with a rusty,
barnacle-encrusted Nautilus

Friday, January 12, 2018

Once, in The Brave and the Bold #32 (2010), Aquaman teams up with the Demon to journey to an underwater city, fight fishmen, and stop the horrible menace of Cth. . . wait, is that still under copyright? Some idiots claim they own it but have no papers to prove it? It's actually in the public domain now? Nevermind, we'll call it, um, a Night God. That's great! Let's go to print!

Then, in Aquaman Vol 7 #23 (2013).

Oh, but wait, that's Aquaman's buddy, Topo, from Prime Earth. Topo is a sentient octopus that first appeared in Adventure Comics #229 (1956). Wanna see what he used to look like?